Scott Correll's blog

Me Owen

I’ve been silently watching Owen – his natural instincts to learn and the skills he’s trying to acquire. Here’s his educational curriculum (self-imposed):

1.    Open stuff
2.    Close stuff
3.    Repeat 1 and 2 endlessly.
4.    Look at stuff closely
5.    Bite stuff to test its taste and/or texture
6.    Desperately want what someone else has
7.    Find comfort quickly when tired or scared in the form of mom, dad or blanket
8.    Dance around

Watching all of this, I can’t help but think that his little brain is learning essential survival skills that may or may not be relevant to the world in which he’ll live. Despite our recent advances – and by recent, I mean in the last 500 years or so – his brain is still programmed to survive in a much more primal arena.

Our technology, and therefore our lives and focus, have evolved much faster than our biological brains. Evolution isn’t as quick as human ingenuity. Because of this, we are unsuited for our current tasks and lives. Significant evolution takes hundreds of thousands of years, and yet only 15,000 years ago we lived in small tribes as hunter-gatherers. We still have that primal brain, but somehow we are supposed to multi-task insignificant and meaningless details and function in a world void of basic survival instincts such as hunting, gathering, finding shelter or avoiding large predators.

Try not to drown or get eaten by sharks, okay?

But these basic skills are still what the brain first tries to establish.

1.    Open stuff –
        A basic gathering skill. “Good” stuff is often    
        hidden inside things.
2.    Close stuff –
        Protection and secrecy of the good stuff you’ve
        found
3.    Repeat 1 and 2 endlessly –
        Figure out how something works
4.    Look at stuff closely –
        Learn the intricacies of a thing in case you need
        that information later
5.    Bite stuff to test its taste and/or texture –
        Establish if something is food or is durable for
        other purposes
6.    Desperately want what someone else has –        
        Survival of the fittest and/or strongest
7.    Find comfort quickly when tired or scared in the
       form of parents or blanket –
        Get away from scary or dangerous things
8.    Dance around –
        Figure out what your body is capable of. Also,
        possibly, the appreciation of music, a higher level brain process.

So Owen’s brain is going through its evolutionary start-up with no idea of its historical context. It could be 2007, it could be 40,000 B.C. Only later will it begin to deviate and adapt to the reality of his surroundings – playing instruments, working remote controls, or tying shoes. These are cultural skills and ones at which his brain will slowly shift from instinctive learning to contextual learning.

In the meantime, it’s fun to watch him explore the world around him. At least in this era it’s my nightstand he aggressively plunders and not the dark holes of venomous creatures.

Girl On Fire

Eliot turned four last week and coincidently, my wife and I have noticed a change in her lately. She’s growing up. Unlike Owen, who is content to stay an infant as long as possible, Eliot is rushing through childhood, eager to get to some unknown place and do grown-up things. She was like this from birth – frustrated by her own childlike limitations. Her favorite saying is “I can do it myself.” She wants to dress herself, wash herself, brush her own teeth and hair and is hesitant to ever hold my hand if she perceives it’s a safety issue.

Tolerating mom's hug

But the beautiful thing about her – and an increasingly evident part of her personality – is that she has managed to assert her self-determination without being cold or distant. She is unexpectedly and deliciously warm at just the right moments. She will draw her line of independence in the sand, make sure you clearly understand it, and test it with small scenarios. And when you least expect it, she will grab your hand and invite you inside the circle.  Sometimes just for a moment.

For reasons unknown, Eliot was programmed in utero to go out into the world and survive, and already she appears to be preparing for some mysterious undertaking. But always there’s the safety line back to us - just in case and at least for now. When will she cut that last cord? Never I hope, but she’s made it clear that it won’t be my choice. The encouraging part of this is that at the age of four, Eliot has given me what most parents wait an entire lifetime to feel – that she’s going to be okay when we’re gone.

I only wish she didn’t seem to be in such a rush to get there.

A small town in Los Angeles

That’s the rarity of South Pasadena. And sadly it’s changing. When the major film studios need an all-American small town, they come here – you can’t drive around town without seeing the production trucks and dolly cranes. Craftsman homes, mom and pop stores, 100-year-old tree lined streets. We even have an outdoor movie for kids every Saturday night in the summers. Seen the original Halloween? That was shot here. So was Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, Back to the Future, Bruce Almighty, Legally Blonde and the more recent Nancy Drew. Not to mention almost every major television drama has shot at least one episode here. And it’s all of three square miles. We have one high school and a train stop. And it’s just 14 miles from downtown L.A.

But it’s changing. Having grown up in a small town, I’ve noticed that there are distinct characteristics that cannot be contrived artificially, like so many towns try to do these days. Been to Burbank? Ugh. Contrived culture. A true small town has several things:
A.    Vacant lots
B.    Abandoned buildings that kids explore without their parents knowledge
C.    Sidewalks pushed up into bicycle ramps by large tree roots
D.    Locally owned restaurants, bars, coffee houses and bookstores – sometimes with a handmade sign
E.    One library where they know your name
F.    At least one overgrown yard and house whose resident is purportedly a witch
G.    The same school buildings that your parents went to
H.    A one-screen movie theater

South Pasadena is all of those things. But the very thing that makes this town special is also the thing that makes people want to move here… and change it. Trendy shops have been popping up lately – wine bars, baby designer clothing stores and the worst of all – those “shops below, live above” condos that some horrendous developer sees as culture. The construction is shoddy – they’re made to have curb appeal and sell quickly for too much money. Ten years from now the owners will have all but given up on them and moved on like locusts to ruin some other town. Then the secondary owners will undoubtedly have to deal with leaky basements, doors that don’t close and foundation problems. The space that used to have one unique house, now has four town homes and the vacant lots are being gobbled up by developers whose idea of attractive housing is a building that rests precisely 14 inches from its nearest neighbor.

I’m sad for South Pasadena, but we’ll enjoy it as long as we can. People use to call it Mayberry, after the Andy Griffith show, but soon it’ll look like Little Burbank. The magic will be gone and it’ll blend into the rest of the southland megalopolis and the residents will wonder why they don’t shoot movies here anymore.

A Thousand Flowers

That’s how many my kids would pick each week if I let them. Both my daughter and my son are obsessed with flowers, and on our walks they will pick as many as I let them. We had to have a conversation about the difference between wild flowers and garden flowers, because without that clarification, Eliot would clean out every planter in front the restaurants near our house – and I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate that. We’ve also had to have the talk about picking a few for now and leaving some for later. “Pick a few and leave a few” is our motto. It’s not instinctive for people to conserve – I believe evolution has programmed us to take until our hearts content, which is proving to be a huge problem lately.

On our walk

I like that my son appreciates flowers, too. I think he just recognizes the beauty in them and that’s a good thing. He’ll grunt when we pass wildflowers and Eliot will pick a few for each of them. They prefer daisies or buttercups. Owen will sit there and hold them in his sweaty little hand, occasionally picking them apart as if there is some secret in the center. It’s not destructive, just a curiosity about what they are. Today we saw a small tree near the park that had erupted with yellow flowers. On that single tree we spotted four enormous bumble bees, countless honeybees and a hummingbird. It was alive with small creatures and we watched in silence for a moment. I watched the kids watch the tree and we were both in awe of life – for different reasons.

Owen doesn't speak

That’s not entirely true, but what he mostly says is something like “thubulubulu” using mostly his tongue. By this age (19 months), Eliot was calling out for mommy or daddy and making sounds of animals such as moo and quack. Owen

Owen and his blanket

has shown some interest in this, but it mostly still comes out as guttural grunts and screams. He first learned toanswer “What sound does a piggy make?” by grunting once, which we thought was progress. But now that’s his answer for almost any question: What sound does a duck make? Grunt. What sound does a cow make? Grunt. We’re not too worried yet. It seems to be his character. This is a kid that didn’t walk until he was 17 months. So clearly he has a leisurely attitude towards things, which to be quite honest is refreshing in our family. I can be a little high strungand both my wife and I have the patience of ferrets on espresso. Maybe Owen is the antidote to this. Maybe he's here to teach us to be patient and enjoy the ride. We keep reminding ourselves that one day he'll be grown and gone and the house won't have his little grunts and screeches. So for now, it's a beautiful sound and we'll take it. Even if his ducks sound like pigs.

Check Yo'self

Thank god my 20th high school reunion is this year because I am physically deteriorating at a rate unseen since the Mir Space Station. One year later and I would likely have be voted “Changed the Most,” if they have such an honor. I submit the following evidence:

Me at 32

Me at 38...or so it feels

My hair is becoming gray in streaks and patches. I try not to complain, because it IS still hair.But why the sudden chroma-shift? New wrinkles appear weekly, creasing my face and giving me a sudden tired look. Most troublesome of these are the deep lines that have taken permanent hold on my cheeks – laugh lines. They seem to give gravity a handhold as it dragsmy face towards my shoes. At 30, I looked 20. At 38, I look every bit 38… and some. And the singlebiggest reason for this collapse is lack of sleep due to kids. My kids are horrible sleepers. One of them is up at least every two hours. My wife and I never get into that rejuvenating R.E.M. stage of blissful rest. It’s like sleeping in an airport. The next ten years will likely not be kind.

Aside from your obituary, is there as stark a moment of self-reflection than a 20-year reunion? Twenty years is enough time to really make something of yourself…or not. Likely, dozens of Class of 1987 Sweeny Bulldogs are taking stock – career, check – family, check – appearance, check. And not necessarily in that order. Happiness will not be a criterion, nor will “good for the common cause” or other benevolent achievements. Wallets, cars and waistlines will be thoroughly scrutinized. But all in all, it should be fun. If I can keep it together until then.

The Awkward Beginning

Starting a blog is dubious. It’s meaningless to most and narcissistic at best. But my reasons for doing so are twofold.

 

One: Life is fleeting and I’m terrified to think that one day it will be over. But I am here, right now, with these beautiful people. And so perhaps I can capture and preserve it in some artificial way.

 

Two: Writing on a semi-daily basis is good discipline and practice. It allows time for reflection – a lost art. 

 

Me - I teach Language Arts and paddle outrigger canoes.

My family is the center of my universe.

Cruise

 

Shari – She’s a photographer and the greatest person I know. This is my favorite picture of her. I don't know where or when it was taken, but she looks happy.

Shari

Blake - The nicest human you will ever know

Blake and Jessica

Alex - Skateboarding madman and sugarhound

Alex

Eliot Lucy Blue - Rules with a tiny iron fist and savvy street smarts

Eliot in Redondo

Owen - Edible sweetness

Owen on the front porch

I used to teach this unit of Earth history where I would unwind a 120 ft. rope. It represented the age of the universe - 15 billion years. Each inch represented 10 million years. For the first 80 feet, not much happened - gases cooled and congregated, stars and planets formed. Earth came into existence. For the next 39 feet, the planet cooled, geography shifted, gases formed. The last couple of feet something remarkable happened - life. Bacteria messed around - multiplied, mutated, succeeded and failed. But here's the kicker - ALL of human history, from the Egyptians to the Roman Empire to today, is represented by the last 4/10,000 of an inch - a fraction of the width of a human hair. On a 120 ft. rope. We are a flicker, shrouded in ignorance and the mystery of being.

With that humbling fact, it's easy to lose the importance of a single human life. But when I push my daughter on the swing, and she closes her eyes to feel the wind in her face, it reminds me that it's all still important - that despite our desperate need for answers, we still mean something. Whatever it is. And in the meantime, I try not to forget that right here, right now, is all that matters. It's all that will ever matter.